Cemetery Gates
by AkiraSesshoumaruMalfoy
Summary: The team are called onto a case in a small town on the border of Georgia and Florida. But they soon find out that not everything is what it seems; and it becomes a race against the clock to save two members of their team before it's too late
1. Chapter 1

+++This will be set before JJ leaves because, to be honest, it flows so much better with her in it.

**Title:** Cemetery Gates

**Summary:** The team are called onto a case in a small town on the border of Georgia and Florida. But they soon find out that not everything is what it seems; and it becomes a race against the clock to save two members of their team before it's too late. Implied Morgan/Reid (nothing graphic).

**Genre:** Crime/Drama

**Rating:** T for themes not suitable for young readers.

***Chapter 1: It's like a Rubik cube that can't be solved**

"Four men and three women, all abducted in the last two weeks from a roadhouse in a small town on the border of Georgia and Florida," JJ said, images of the seven abductees shown on the screen. "All of different ethnic backgrounds; different heights and weights. Jonah Schmidt was a German backpacker; Elisabeth Smith was travelling through to Jacksonville with her husband and three children; Kingston Blaise was travelling to Miami with his friend Jason Lang; Xiaou Lee worked in the roadhouse; Lesley Harris came into town from a nearby farm for dinner; Charlie Jackson and Mike Thomas were together travelling to Washington DC." The team read this information from the case files in front of them, looking for connections that weren't there.

"And local authorities are certain it's the same unsub?" Morgan asked sceptically. There was different victimology; the only connection being the one roadhouse in a border town with a population of less than 500.

"Kidnappings like this in places along the borders are rare," Reid said, "the chance of this being more than one unsub is one in forty. One place, multiple victims; this is way above the national average for abductions like these over this period of time," he explained.

"Have any bodies been discovered in the town or around it?" Rossi asked. JJ shook her head.

"No, but Xiaou Lee's eight carat gold engagement ring was sold from a local second hand shop; Jonah Schmidt's platinum bracelet was found in the garbage outside the local pub and Charlie Jackson's and Mike Thomas's wallets were found in the bushes beside the roadhouse," she explained.

"So he's not financially motivated, he's still in the area and the victims might still be alive." Hotch said, "wheels up in twenty."

Emily Prentiss and David Rossi went to check out the roadhouse; Reid and Morgan went to the second hand shop and JJ and Hotch went to the police station.

"Hello, I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jereau and this is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and we're from the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia," JJ smiled, shaking the ageing sheriff's hand. He smiled back at her, tight lipped. He was new to this department and already he was getting flak from the officers for calling in the FBI.

"Is this it?" he asked warmly. He didn't want to insult them. They were the only ones who could help. JJ shook her head.

"No, the rest of our team are at the crime scene and second hand shop to trying to get some information," she explained, "do you have a place we can set up?" she asked. The department was small, only four officers and a sheriff. There wasn't much space...at all.

"Yeah, we cleared out the store room," he showed them into a three by four room that had one window that pointed to sparse bushland. "It used to be a meeting room, but as the town got smaller, the meetings did too and then it just became storage space," the sheriff explained.

"Thank you," Hotch said, "we'll need all your case files and any information you've collected so far." The sheriff got one of the other officers, a woman in her late twenties, to get the files. There wasn't much...just a couple of files pieced together and a number of unsolved abductions in the past ten years from the same place. There weren't many – only four – because, as Reid had said, it wasn't common.

"Garcia," Hotch called the technical analyst.

"What can I do for you?" she asked quickly, wheeling over to her computer.

"Can you check out the data bases for any unidentified bodies that have shown up in places around Campton [_I don't live in America...I'm making this up...I'm sorry =(_] in the last two weeks?" he asked. He heard rapid clicking of fingers on keys.

"None, sir," she replied. Hotch pursed his lips.

"Thanks Garcia." He hung up. This was going to be a long one.

Rossi looked around the Roadhouse. It wasn't very busy, but he supposed that would change during the holiday seasons. It was surrounded by bushland in front and behind, by farmland to the west and the town to the north east. The road extended into the south and the west far into the distance.

"It certainly is isolated," Rossi said, turning back to the roadhouse. Local cars were parked in the parking spaces for employees. Cars from all over the state were parked in the guest parking and by the bowsers. There was even a truck or two. The shop front faced the interstate.

"Have the camera's shown anything?" he asked Prentiss. She shook her head.

"You can see the victims arriving, and then nothing. Our unsub managed to lure them away from the building and the camera's and their families. How did he do it?" Prentiss said frustrated. It was a victim every two days – they had less than 24 hours before he struck again.

"He certainly has a lot of room," Rossi murmured, "and those cameras only show the bowsers, the front counter and the restaurant. It's not going to show the rooms where Xiaou Lee stayed; the outside bathrooms; the parking spaces or across the road. This unsub has so much space to work." He thought out loud. Prentiss nodded.

"And he could go anywhere, but he stays here," she said.

"We don't know that yet," Rossi cautioned. She shook her head.

"All their vehicles were still where the victims left them; he must have his own," she started. "And it must be large enough, like a van, a truck or an SUV, to hide the victims."

"Providing he needs to hide them. If I have a gun pointed at me, or a knife, I'm going to be more than happy to do whatever someone tells me to."

"But what about the last two? He abducted them together. They were both healthy alpha males, they would have been able to overpower someone holding a gun to them." Prentiss said. Rossi thought about it for a moment.

"So he incapacitates them, hides them and takes them somewhere local. Jewellery and wallets, and other items are taken, but not sold. They're just thrown away, like trash."

"So he's not in it for the money, he's in it for the bodies."

"So has he killed them?" Prentiss asked. Rossi frowned.

"It's fairly easy to abduct these people from here; it's nearly risk free. He could be killing them and keeping the bodies...or he could be keeping them," he closed his eyes. "What's going on here?"

Fluorescent tubes lit the concrete building. There was a dripping drain pipe, water –drip, drip, drip- into a puddle next to a cage. The lights flickered occasionally, a low drone coming from them. Nothing could be heard except heavy breathing and occasional groans. The groans were soon silenced, footsteps coming and going; door opening, closing.

Creak. Footsteps. Slam.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Morgan and Reid walked into the second hand shop. There were toys, books, clothes, sheets and furniture cluttering the small space. It wasn't a big shop and there was only one other person in it aside from them and the attendant.

The attendant was a small, elderly woman with greying hair, wearing a hand knitted orange and brown cardigan, sitting on a stool at the counter. She was reading through a small novel, which she bookmarked when the two FBI agents walked in the door.

Morgan and Reid stood at the counter, Reid looking around the shop with interest. They showed her their badges.

"Hello, ma'am, I'm Special Agent Derek Morgan and this is Doctor Spencer Reid, we're with the FBI and we'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind," Morgan said seriously. The old lady nodded.

"Okay," she said in a voice that had been afflicted by years of smoking, "ask away," she smiled.

"The ring you sold...who brought it in?" Morgan asked.

"No one, I found it on the doorstep when I came in on Sunday to sort out some donations that the school sent in." The old lady replied.

"Has there been anyone hanging around recently? More than usual?" Reid asked, brain storing all the information. The lady frowned and then shook her head.

"No. We've had more business and donations, the recession, you see, but that's all. No one's been hanging around."

"Have you fired anyone recently? Anyone who was unhappy with the place or who...was attached to it?" Reid asked.

"No. I've been here most of my life and worked here twenty years and no one like that has ever be-"

"There was someone," the woman who was looking at the books said.

"Who would that be ma'am?" Morgan asked. The woman stood beside them at the counter. She was in her forties, dyed red hair that showed light brown regrowth, dressed in worn out jeans and an old shirt. Her face showed the effects of sun damage and ageing.

"When I was little, about five, a man called Joseph Smith worked here. He was married to the woman who owned it, but she was ill most of the time and couldn't run it," the woman explained. "His wife died...oo, twenty years ago. He moved away and handed the shop to the council. He was very attached to it...but he hasn't been around these parts since he left, so I don't think he could be the person you're looking for." The woman explained. Morgan and Reid smiled politely.

"Thank you for your time," Morgan said and they left the shop.

"He leaves the bracelet in a bin, but goes to the trouble of leaving the ring at a second hand store. It was a dangerous move," Reid said, eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. "The shop must mean something to him."

"What about the pub? He left the wallets where he took the victims, why not the bracelet too?" Morgan asked. Reid leant against the black SUV, staring around the main street. That's all Campton was. One Business Street, a roadhouse, a caravan park, some residences scattered around the side streets and a small primary school. And the two main highways that lead way out of the town.

"If other jewellery or items showed up, do you think people would hand it in or advertise it?" Morgan asked sardonically. "We could have points of interest all over the town, which isn't that big; just vanish because people won't admit to pocketing lost items." He sighed. "Perfect."

"Have Garcia check out Joseph Smith...it has to be worth a try." Morgan dialled Garcia, but they were both equally sceptic of the outcome.

"You have reached the temple of knowledge," Garcia's voice rang out over the phone. Morgan could see her smile. Her happiness was infectious, so he smiled too. He didn't get many chances to do that.

"Can you run a name for me baby girl?" Morgan asked. Garcia laughed.

"And here I thought you had something harder for me," he gave her the name and she typed away. Morgan waited.

"Joseph Smith, born 8th July 1953. Mother was a factory worker, father served in the military until he was killed by an anti-war protestor in 1971. He grew up in Campton; married a local farmer's daughter Bethany James, in 1969. They had two sons and a daughter..." her voice trailed off, "their daughter died in 1976 from pneumonia and their youngest son was arrested in 1998 for the abduction and rape of five women in the 90's. Their eldest son lives in Albany, a tax accountant; married with three children. She died in 1979 and Mr. Smith died in 2003 in a road accident...just outside of Campton." She explained. Morgan nodded.

"Thanks baby girl." He smiled, hanging up.

"So they're all dead ends," Morgan sighed. Reid was busy looking around.

"It's a small place, everywhere is important to someone...we just need to find out who."

Hotch and JJ had so far made little progress.

"So he's staying in the area, which means he's probably a local," Hotch said tiredly, rubbing his eyes and taking a drink of the incredibly bad coffee. "And he needs a place to hide bodies; dead or alive; so it has to be somewhere big. He's not financially motivated, so he must be well off. It must be somewhere isolated-"

"Which pretty much explains everywhere in Campton." JJ interjected. Reid and Morgan came into the room, followed a few minutes later by Prentiss and Rossi.

"What have you found out?" Hotch asked. The four agents sat down, sighing tiredly.

"Nothing." They all answered simultaneously and laughed bitterly at the irony of it all.

"The second hand shop must be important to him...he wouldn't have dropped the ring there if it wasn't," Reid averred.

"He could be unemployed or self employed if he has enough time to abduct every second day and be able to keep his victims," Prentiss added.

"He'll have a lot of space where he can keep them," Hotch contributed. "Privacy."

"There are a lot of farms in the place, and farmers tend to be isolated," Morgan stated.

"And losing the farm, or problems with it, could be a stressor," Prentiss supplied.

"He's not new at this, he would have done it before," Rossi said. Hotch looked over the files they had.

"There have been four in the past ten years; unsolved, no bodies."

"If he has an animal farm he could have disposed of the bodies that way."

"I'll have Garcia check for farmers in the area, who have recently suffered a loss; paying attention to those with animal farms and have a history with the pub and the second hand shop," Hotch explained, taking out his phone. "It's late; we should head to the caravan park – sleep. Maybe things will look clearer in the morning."

The team stood up and headed out. They could have walked from where they were.

*TBC


	2. Chapter 2

AN: So here's chapter two. Thanks for all the support for Chapter 1, and hopefully Chapter 2 lives up to your expectations =)

***Chapter 2: Late Night Revelations**

JJ and Prentiss; Reid and Morgan; Hotch and Rossi all shared vans. The attendants were very kind about them coming in late, saying how they hoped that they caught whoever's been abducting people. It was bad for business; no one wanted to stay in a place where tourists were being abducted.

Reid sat up at the table, drinking instant coffee out of a mug, looking over the files he'd taken from the police station. He'd asked for any unsolved cases, involving kidnapping and theft, in the last few years. He'd been piled with a lot that he'd managed to go through quite quickly.

Three had stood out. Aside from the four abductions that Hotch and JJ had looked over, there was a robbery from the pub; just a few liquors from the storeroom. There had been a robbery of a local pharmacy recently – sedatives and vitamins. He could be keeping them sedated, but for what? And then there was the kidnapping of a 22 year old Irish man who was found, four months later (three years ago), wandering around the bushland around the outskirts of town.

He'd had high levels of drugs in his system, some natural, others artificial; and was so out of it that police couldn't take a statement. Witnesses said he was talking about a place to sleep where they got up to play games. When asked what type of games, he'd said races and wrestling and swimming. He'd been blindfolded the whole time, so he had no idea where he'd been kept or who had taken him.

Reid frowned. That could be what was happening to the recent victims. But why? Why start again? And why would he leave one victim alive? They weren't even certain it was the same person...but it wasn't a coincidence that a man, abducted in the exact same place, under the same circumstances, in the same place as the recent victims, would have been taken by another unsub.

So caught up in his thoughts he didn't here Morgan wake up and come into the kitchen, almost jumping out of his skin when he realised Reid was still awake.

"What are you doing up Reid?" Morgan asked sleepily. Reid started. He looked up at Morgan, who was standing in the divider with nothing but boxers on (which made Reid uncomfortable for reasons he couldn't explain) then looked back to the papers in front of him.

"Working." Reid said, stifling a yawn. Morgan laughed.

"You're tired, it's one am, you need to sleep," he grinned. Reid always did this when they had to stay overnight. He'd exhaust himself (and Morgan was almost always sharing a room with him so he had to put up with the light a page turning) and never have enough sleep.

Reid shook his head.

"I think I know what he's doing to the victims," he stated, as if that answered Morgan's question.

"You only think?" Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, I _know_ then," Reid replied indignantly. Morgan laughed lightly.

"Fire away then," Morgan said taking a seat. It was Reid; the explanation would take a while.

"We're right, he's done something like this before, but his targets must have been either from somewhere else; or not enough to cause a disturbance," Reid started, "and he left one of his victims alive. The victim was drugged heavily and told officers he was locked in a cage and they played games. Key word: they. Meaning there were more victims. He was the only person found – so what happened to the others?" he explained, getting faster and faster until he stopped. Morgan considered this.

"He was drugged...he could have been making the whole thing up," he suggested, taking the case file from Reid. He read through it, processing it through his sleep deprived brain.

"Yeah, but to have those levels of barbiturates, he should have been de-" Reid's eyes widened.

"Reid, what's up?" Morgan asked, frowning at Reid's silence.

"He's killing them..." Reid's soft voice trailed off. His mind was drawn back to that time, when he was trapped in a cabin, in the woods with Tobias Hankel. So out of it he could barely think; he hadn't known what was going on – wasn't aware of time; only of pain and reprieve; pain and reprieve...on and on until he'd had no choice but to shoot.

Morgan watched as Reid's eyes clouded over. He was thinking, and about what, Morgan had a pretty good idea. He sighed.

"Get some sleep Reid," Morgan murmured, standing. Reid yawned, coming back into focus. He, too, stood and went back to the still made bed, while Morgan left the van.

As soon as Reid's head hit the pillow, he was dead to the world. He didn't even hear Morgan come back in.

In the morning, at the police station, Reid filled the team in on his theory. They all considered it plausible, but they'd have to wait to hear from Garcia to see if it would lead anywhere. Hotch's phone rang.

"Hotch," he answered.

"I have that list you wanted, but it's quite extensive," Garcia replied.

"How many names?" Hotch asked, frown on his face, putting her on speaker.

"There are five farmers in the local area who are going to lose their farms because of the bad harvest; ten who are in debt up to their eyeballs because Government benefits have been suspended temporarily; fifteen who won't have their farms for much longer if revenues are anything to go by," she supplied, voice tired. The room was silent for a moment.

"Animal farms?" Prentiss asked.

"Out of the thirty, 24 farm animals, but they all produce their own feed..." her voice trailed off.

"Any one of them could be doing it," JJ stated.

"Criminal records?" Morgan asked.

"Misdemeanours – speeding tickets, overdue payments...nothing like what you're looking for."

"This guy has done something like this before – you don't abduct people without a trace, like this, without having practice first." Rossi told them.

"It's a small place...has anyone got outstanding connections to local facilities like the pub or the second hand shop?" Prentiss asked. Garcia did some key clicking.

"Charles Jackson's great grandfather established the local pub," Garcia said slowly, "and his aunt and uncle owned the second hand shop...his grandmother was a teacher at the school and...He works on a farm a few miles out of town." She provided.

Finally, a lead.

"Thanks Garcia," Hotch said.

"You're welcome, my lovies."

They were talking to the local police, giving out the profile, when there was a call. The sheriff answered the phone and a dark look came across his face. The FBI and his own department waited.

"There's been another abduction," he said woefully. The FBI agents sighed; the police shook their heads.

"Reid, Morgan, go with the police and see what you can find, we'll go and check out Charles Jackson," Hotch instructed. Reid and Morgan nodded, going with Officer Clemens to check out the roadhouse.

The rest of the team suited up to go and see Charles Jackson.

_It won't be long until the games begin_.

*TBC


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Chapter 3, give a cheer for me =P

***Chapter 3: Finding out the truth is a pain in the neck**

Morgan talked to the roadhouse attendant; a man in his late twenties who looked on edge. He was clean shaven; as tall as Morgan, but leaner. Reid went to look around outside, trying to look for where the woman was taken and what methods might have been used.

"So what made you call it in?" Morgan asked, Officer Clemens standing beside him writing notes. The attendant rubbed his eyes.

"I took an order from this chick...she asked where the toilets were. I said outside. She didn't speak much English...so it took a while to explain. She went out and by the time her order was ready, she wasn't here. I waited, left Anne in charge and went out to look for her. The blue car she drove in with was still in the parking bay and she wasn't in the toilets...then I called the police and waited." He explained, frowning once in a while as he tried to remember details.

"Did anyone else come in? Drive past? Did the cameras pick up anything?" Officer Clemens asked. The attendant shook his head.

"I saw her car drive past and...Anne?" he called back to the kitchen. A woman in her 30's, stern looking, wearing the workplace uniform, came out. "Did the cameras show another car?" he asked her. She shook her head.

"I don't know. I was in the office doing accounts," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice, "I feel so responsible...if I was looking at the cameras I might have seen something," she sniffed, wiping her teary eyes. Morgan smiled reassuringly.

"It wasn't anyone's fault, no one could have predicted when this was going to happen," he said softly. The attendant was frowning, deep in thought.

"I-I..." he bit his lip, "I think...there was this white truck. It had a dual cab, and a tarp covered box...a lot of feed bags on the back." He said softly. Morgan felt a type of relief flow through him. Maybe they had something now, it was worth a shot.

"Okay, you're doing good, what else do you remember?" he asked.

"I didn't see it park, or pull in, it just drove past, but it was going slow, like it was going to pull in. I went to collect some plates from the dining room and saw it in the parking bay a few metres away from the parking lot. Trucks parked there all the time...people check their loads...come in for a coffee or two. I didn't think anything of it...until now because no one's come in and...it left right after she was taken." The attendant explained hurriedly.

"Did you get any plates?" Clemens asked. The attendant shook his head. Morgan thought for a moment.

"Would you agree to a cognitive interview?" he asked. The attendant gave him a blank look. "It's where I walk you through what happened and you try to remember more than what you saw. What you smelt or heard matters just as much as what you saw." Morgan explained.

"Okay...let's do it."

Reid stood in the bathroom. It looked immaculate (for a roadhouse); there were no signs of a struggle. No blood spots on the floor, no smashed mirrors; no soap or paper everywhere. If he had taken her from here, there'd be signs.

He stepped outside and looked at the place. Next to the toilets were the roadhouse and staff accommodations. There wasn't much room away from the cameras near here. They were on each corner of the roof; and one around the corner. If the unsub had taken her from the toilets, the camera's would have seen it.

He walked past the front of the shop. There was no way to get across here without being seen. They'd have to go over the footage. Maybe the unsub lured her from over here to the other side of the shop. There were cameras on the back for the diesel pumps, but none at the side – at the patch of dirt that doubles as a parking bay.

Reid frowned and sighed, frustrated. This case – there were so many variables to consider and they weren't even sure if it was the same unsub, or if the victims were still alive, or if the unsub was still around. Surely if he was local, he would have fled already once the trail started leading back to him.

All they had was one roadhouse...no camera footage and a three year old case with only one unreliable witness to its occurrence.

A vehicle pulled onto the side of the road across from the roadhouse and a man and woman got out, then two small children. The car was locked, and they went over to the toilets. Reid looked around some more. They walked into the roadhouse, and walked back out a few minutes later, across to their car, then drove away.

He didn't know their names. No one did. And yet they were here. If they disappeared even five miles down the road, no one would know until bodies showed up.

So why was the BAU here? Surely people going missing without a trace wouldn't incur suspicion until abduction turned into murder, or rape.

These people could be anywhere. They could be at home with their families; working some casual job in another town...trapped in a cage with a heap of other people, drugged, played with then disposed of.

Without a trace.

No one ever leaves nothing behind. There has to be someone who knew...who noticed that something was missing. Who was that? People who had someone to love, how did they just vanish? And if they did just vanish, how did the FBI get involved?

There was something missing. Some piece that would make this all make sense.

Reid was at the other side of the roadhouse. There was a window that looked into the restaurant – Morgan was doing an interview with the attendant.

If you weren't looking, this place would be a blind spot; the perfect place to abduct someone. But there were people on the road, people pulling up; someone must have seen something. But they were all moving – and no one would think twice about people they don't know getting into vehicles they don't know at a place they don't frequent.

Who would know if seven people went missing from a roadhouse that had more customers than that in ten minutes?

Reid's eyes widened. If, and that was the operative word, their unsub was drugging them and using them as racehorses, that would require a degree of narcissism. The unsub would be feeling anger at the towns lack of recognition of his work. A goose chase – one location, any evidence ruined by contamination. Too many vehicles, no witnesses – nothing to indicate a crime had even happened.

He turned around just in time to see a white truck, with a tarp over a box, pull up beside the shop. He looked back inside – Morgan and Officer Clemens, the attendant and the other woman, had vanished.

How long had that truck been there? He turned back around, ready to go back inside, when suddenly his mouth was covered by a gloved hand and the sharp pain of a needle being stabbed into the junction between his neck and shoulder.

Then it all went blurry – he barely registered being dragged across the dirt and thrown, as if he weighed nothing, into the tray of the truck. Another tarp, one that smelled of sheep and pigs, was thrown over him. He groaned, trying to call out, but his mouth wouldn't work.

He thought he heard a muffled scream before it all went black.

Hotch and JJ stood outside the residence of Charles Jackson, a local farmer who had a kennel, or sorts, of wild and domestic animals around the sides of his house. There was a cacophony of noise coming from the animals, which made it hard for the agents and officers – all with guns at the ready – to determine if anyone was in the house.

Hotch banged on the door. "Charles Jackson!" he called out. There was the sound of a glass breaking on a wooden floor, loud curses, and stumbling footsteps. Hotch and JJ stood back, guns pointed at the door as it opened.

Charles's bleary eyes, bloodshot from the alcohol they could smell on him, looked at them, unfocussed for a moment, before he saw the guns and screamed, tripping over his feet, falling on his backside.

The officers and agents looked at the man. He was barely dressed wearing only a dirty singlet and linen shorts. He looked repugnant. He was drunk – looked like he had been for quite some time. Maybe hung over; but one thing was for sure: there was no way that this man had abducted someone in the past few hours.

"Charles Jackson?" JJ asked softly, putting her gun away. Hotch had her back, she had nothing to be worried about. The man looked up – frightened eyes on the gun Hotch had pointed at him.

"Y..yeah..." he said in a slurred, shaking voice. He turned his head slowly to face JJ. She repressed the cringe she felt surfacing at the sight of the man.

"Mr Jackson, have you been out in the past 8 hours?" she asked gently. He shook his head and his eyes darkened. He stood up slowly, well aware of the gun pointed at him and the officers staring at him.

"Some bastard's gone and nicked me truck," he said loudly, teeth barred. The animals were making even more of a racket.

"And how long has it been gone?" JJ asked. Charles shrugged.

"A week...maybe more...I've been wallowing in self pity," he spat, "the council's taking my farm and my animals and my workers have already buggered off!" his voice was getting louder with every word. JJ took a step back.

"So you haven't been anywhere in a week?" she asked. Charles shook his head.

"I went to town last Monday, got my mail, opened it, used all my cash to buy some liquor and then I came home with a few groceries and I've been here ever since. I can't even tend the animals coz the feed was on the truck," he grumbled. He spoke with clarity – maybe he wasn't as drunk as they first thought.

"Can anyone verify that?" Hotch asked. Charles glared at him.

"My workers left Wednesday morning when they couldn't find the fertilisers, and it's been me and my animals since." He muttered, "now, if that's all, I need to get back to wallowing in self pity." Charles went to close the door, sneer still on his face.

"Do we have any reason to take him in?" Rossi asked over the earpiece. Hotch shook his head in his direction.

The door slammed.

The agents and officers went back to their cars and they drove back into town. Their only lead had vanished into the wind.

*TBC


	4. Chapter 4

***Chapter 4 Trapped in a Box of Tremendous Size**

Hotch got back to the station and called Morgan. _Hey, this is Derek Morgan, leave a message and I'll get back to you ASAP_. Hotch frowned, a sinking feeling in his gut. He tried calling Reid. _Spencer Reid. Leave a Message_. The sinking feeling turned into a nauseated feeling. He called Garcia.

"The temple of knowledge, how may you be informed?" she asked in a cheery voice. Her answering made Hotch feel slightly less scared, but no less nauseated.

"Garcia, can you track Morgan and Reid's location?" he asked, tone agitated. He was edgy – two of his agents were _missing_, and if it was their unsub; they had no leads and no way to find them.

Garcia voiced her concern as she clicked away on her keyboards, trying to track their cell phone signals.

"Their phones have been turned off...I can't trace them," Garcia's voice shook, "what's wrong Hotch?" she asked, sounding as if she were about to cry. Hotch pursed his lips.

"I don't know Garcia, I don't know." He ended the call and went back out to the yard to see the rest of the officers and his team. He ushered Prentiss, JJ and Rossi into their room.

"What's wrong?" Prentiss asked, noticing how agitated Hotch seemed.

"I can't contact Morgan and Reid," he said, weighing his words carefully, lest his voice shake. He didn't think he could handle losing Morgan and Reid – Haley was enough, not them as well.

"What?" JJ asked, voice shaking. _Not again_, she thought hopelessly, _please God not again._ Her eyes filled with tears. "We have to find them, Hotch." She said adamantly.

"What about that officer they went with?" Rossi asked, his feelings about the wrongness of this situation creeping back up on him. Prentiss left the room and went to speak with the Sheriff. She came back in a few moments later, a grave look on her face.

"Nothing," she said, brain turning over everything about this case, trying to find something they'd missed.

"Okay," Hotch called them all to attention, "let's work over the case, and see if there's anything we've missed. We need to get them back."

Morgan groaned, trying to move to sit up, but finding it difficult. His clouded brain couldn't register anything except that his muscles felt heavy and the ground was cold and wet. It wasn't ground, he ascertained as his head cleared; it was a concrete floor.

He pushed himself off the floor, groaning. His shoulders were stiff and his arms were tied behind his back. His feet weren't tied though. He opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by darkness. His breathing sped up, until he realised he was only blindfolded.

He focussed his attention on his surroundings, trying to hear something, anything. It was quiet except for shuffling sounds (like clothes) and whimpers from other people.

He pushed back against the wall behind him and turned to the side. He rubbed the side of his head against the wall, trying to dislodge the blindfold.

After a few moments of trying, it finally budged and he managed to shake it off. Once his eyes adjusted to the room, he found that it was well lit with fluorescent tubes hanging from the ceiling of some concrete building. He looked around.

The walls were wet...and there were cages. Self made out of fencing and metal posts. There was a small gate, just large enough for an adult to crawl through. The cages extended to the ceiling and each cage allowed for two bodies. He and Reid were in one, and the eight other victims were in the other cages that filled the place. Where was Officer Clemens though?

The cages lined the walls – and in the middle was a mat. It reminded him of the cage in wrestling matches.

He shook his head to clear it, turning to Reid, who was still out cold. Morgan shifted with difficulty to face the prostrate body of his team mate. He gently nudged Reid's shoulder, shaking him. A groan issued forth from the young doctor.

"Reid," Morgan hissed urgently, "wake up." The younger agent groaned and shook his head. After a few minutes, the effect of the drugs wearing off, Reid let out a small whimper.

"M-Morgan?" he stuttered, voice small and weak. Morgan had a feeling that the drugs weren't the only reason his friend sounded so _small_.

Reid managed to pull himself up, breaths coming in short heavy gasps as he tried to calm himself down. He _felt_ the drugs run through his system and it frightened him. He didn't want this again, he didn't think he could beat it _again_.

"Yeah, Reid?" Morgan answered, regarding the doctor intently. He didn't seem to have any bruises, no broken bones...but his shoulders were shaking. "Reid? Are you okay?" he asked. Reid took a deep, shaking breath.

"Y-yeah, I-I'll be fine," he said shakily, taking another breath, "could you...take the blindfold off?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Morgan edged his way over wondering how he was going to do it. He knew Reid was afraid of the dark...and Reid looked like he was struggling just to breathe. Morgan frowned. "Reid, you might feel something strange, but don't worry, okay?" he said softly, reassuringly.

He leant his head down to the blindfold, nose making contact with Reid's hair. _Green Apple?_ Morgan thought_, _that was odd. He took the blindfold between his teeth, noticing how Reid had stiffened next to him, breathing quicker.

Gently, Morgan slowly took off the blindfold, trying to ignore how strange this would look to anyone walking in. Not that he was complaining, though, because it honestly could have been worse.

Reid tried to ignore Morgan's body next to his. Tried to ignore how warm the other agent was. How odd it felt to have Morgan's nose pressed to his hair; but not in a bad way, per se. He let out a small whimper. He shouldn't think things like that.

Morgan managed to dislodge the blindfold enough to pull it away from Reid's face. The doctor still had his eyes closed, shaking slightly. Morgan spat the blindfold onto the floor and regarded Reid carefully.

"Open your eyes man," he said in a commanding, yet delicate voice. Reid took a calming breath before cracking his eyes open. He was a Federal agent, but being locked up again, with drugs he didn't want coursing through his veins, not knowing if the team had been able to figure out the case yet, made him feel like a scared child; made him feel seven, not 29.

Morgan smiled a little. "Now look at me," he ordered. Reid gulped and turned to look at Morgan, frowning when he felt his gut flutter. _Chemical reactions Spencer,_ he chastised internally, _they're only chemical reactions._ It still didn't make them stop.

"Good," Morgan adopted a serious face, the one that said they were in trouble, but they'd find a way out. "Listen, Reid, we're going to be okay. We're going to be fine. You just have to trust me, okay. We'll get out of this." His deep brown eyes held defiance that Reid wanted to believe in.

"I trust you." Reid stated. And he did. With his life, he trusted Morgan to take care of him, to take care of _them_. Morgan smiled tightly.

"Thanks kid," his shoulders started moving as he tried to untie the restraints. They were rope – one or two knots, like the kind used to tie animals legs. Spencer worked at untying himself too.

"It's not a farmer...it's the roadhouse," Reid murmured quietly, wary of anyone listening. Morgan frowned.

"Continue." He was more focussed on the ropes, but hearing something other than silence would help to settle his nerves.

"I think that no one would notice if people went missing from _the roadhouse_," Reid began, voice quick and quite excited. "If these people went missing, especially in this time frame, no one would have reported it because no one expects those people back this soon. However, they were reported missing. No one would notice, especially here, if tourists went missing. The unsub reported the disappearances. The only connection is the roadhouse. Someone at the roadhouse abducted these people, and that someone is the unsub." He explained, almost breathless. Morgan nodded.

"That's good Reid," Morgan let out a triumphant laugh, stretching his arms out in front of him. "Turn around." Reid turned with his back to Morgan and the older agent untied the knots.

They both chose to ignore that little feeling that shot through them at the contact. Now was not the time for such things.

"Clemens was the one who wrote up all the notes in the case files..." Reid's voice trailed off, "he's in on it." He stated with finality.

"But why?" Morgan asked thoughtfully. Reid opened his mouth, then closed it, then pursed his lips to think. They were both silent, ignoring the groans of the other victims.

"They won't lose business if they only abduct tourists," Morgan said thoughtfully. "In fact, if the case remains local, then the business won't suffer much...so it has to be something else."

"He's narcissistic...he's in it for himself," Reid murmured, "whatever he's doing, he's getting recognition for hims-" Reid stopped and Morgan and he looked at each other, truth dawning in their eyes.

_Holy Shit_.

*TBC

AN: Any type of feedback is appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

+++There are about 2 more chapters left to go. Thanks for sticking with me guys =) you guys are brilliant!

***Chapter 5: The Truth makes for Wholesome Pickings**

Anne Freedman and Nicholas Kline stood in the announcement booth, looking out over the games arena. Soon, soon the seats would be full of people, watching _their_ games; in _their_ arena; cheering for them as they offer a brand new form of entertainment...of sport. Years' worth of work would finally pay off. They would be rich. They would be famous. They were like Gods. Playing with human beings like they were nothing but children's toys.

"We've even got two feds," Nicholas smirked, a glint of excitement in his eyes. Ever since Anne had shown him her idea – a small trial run a few years ago, he had been sold. It was a powerful feeling to have control over people – to make _them_ do what _you_ wanted. To have their lives in the palm of your hands – playing them like an instrument; a puppeteer and his puppets.

Anne nodded, eyes glistening with tears. She was overwhelmed by the whole situation. It was going to be beautiful. Their names – their work, recognised by everyone; watched and applauded by everyone.

She couldn't wait.

The sheriff walked into the FBI agents work room, closing the door behind him. He looked uncomfortable, anxious. Hotch looked up from the files he was looking through. The sheriff cleared his throat.

"Listen...I haven't been fully honest with you," he murmured, choosing his words carefully. The team looked at him expectantly, bordering on hostility. Two of their friends were missing and he hadn't been _honest_. He cleared his throat, refusing to look at them.

"I only started out here a few months ago," he began. His voice was shaking. "I didn't think much of it at first, but this place is odd. I thought _nothing_ of it at first. Campton was a small place; I could do my 2 years until retirement hassle free. But then...this place is like poison," his voice had become low; like he was afraid people were listening. "No one who lives here leaves here."

"What do you mean?" Rossi asked. He was sceptical. He didn't believe that evil was supernatural, and what the man was saying sounded like a cop off. The sheriff frowned.

"To the people here, the outside world doesn't need to exist," he whispered, "and my advice to you is to leave, right now, before anything can happen to you. Trust me," he looked Hotch level in the eye, "your friends, they won't make it out of here alive." He went to leave, but Prentiss grabbed him and made him stay put.

"Do you know where these people are?" Hotch asked coldly. The sheriff shook his head.

"Just think about it for a second, Agents; I_ can't_ do _anything_," he said helplessly. "As soon as I get close to a lead, I am going to find myself on the wrong end of a gun and I don't want that happening to you or anyone else. They _will_ kill you if you get close."

"Then why did you call us in?" Prentiss asked coldly the sheriff regarded them helplessly.

"Because seven people had vanished!" he sighed exasperatedly.

"You could have been provided with unreliable information and that was used to lure us here," Rossi supplied, frown on his face. The sheriff shook his head.

"I checked it all out thoroughly before I called you...if I thought there was any chance it was a mistake, you would not be here." He explained.

"Do you have any information?" Hotch asked. The sheriff looked at the ground, frowning, and then looked up.

"Some I think might be helpful."

"Then tell us."

Morgan and Reid looked around the building. They couldn't get out of the cage: the bottom was sealed, the wire was to flimsy to climb and the gate was dead bolted out of reach. They were trapped until someone came in, or until they could find a way out.

"C'mon Reid, use that genius brain of yours to find us a way out of here," Morgan muttered agitated. They needed to find a way out. Any way out would do.

Reid frowned. There wasn't a way out of this, at least not with their bare hands.

"We can't, not without any tools...or we were in a MacGyver re-run." He said thoughtfully.

"MacGyver?" Morgan raised an eyebrow. Reid rolled his eyes. He didn't like this. Something was off. All of the people here were in drug induced slumbers, occasionally waking up, then going back to sleep again. How were they managing to keep awake?

"Morgan?" he murmured.

"Hmm?"

"How are we awake?" he asked, frowning. "Why are we awake?" Morgan looked around and frowned.

"I don't know..."

"I have a really bad feeling about this..." Reid's voice trailed off. The ropes weren't even that tight – like they were waiting to be untied. How long had they been there? What were they doing here?

"So you think that they might be near the cemetery?" Rossi asked the Sheriff. The grey haired man nodded.

"Clemens, the officer that went with your agents, patrolled around there a lot...I often saw the vehicle parked near the cemetery gates," he explained.

"And why didn't you tell us this sooner?" JJ asked. The sheriff looked frightened and nauseated.

"A young man, about 23, was here a couple of years ago. He stayed around to work on one of the farms and was in town for a piss up. It was the end of a good season," the sheriff began. "Clemens and I were on patrol. This man was a little drunk, and we had a word. He got out a little wordy and Clemens beat him to a pulp. I cautioned him, but he threw a brick through my window that almost hit my wife. If I get on the wrong side of him, he'll kill me and I want to see my grandkids again." The sheriff was sincere. He was truly frightened for his life and had taken a huge risk by calling them in to help with these cases.

"How many people can we trust?" Rossi asked. The sheriff shook his head.

"We can't trust anyone."

Hotch thought for a moment.

"JJ, call the Bureau and have them send a team out, any team they can spare...and contact surrounding PD's," he instructed in all seriousness. JJ nodded. "Tell them we need help out here and that if we don't get it, two of our agents will die."

JJ made the call, voice rising as she argued with the director. She hung up, frown on her face.

"Three hours...we have three hours until they can send a team out," he voice shook. For all they knew, by then it could be too late. Hotch thought for a moment, everyone in the room looking at him expectantly.

"We _need_ to find them now." He said with finality. There was no debating it. The people in the room nodded. He turned to face the sheriff.

"Can you call a local quarantine?" he asked. If they could get civilian warriors out of the way, it would be easier to apprehend the instigators. He shook his head.

"You don't get it, do you?" he said bitterly. "Everyone in this town is in on it. There is no way to isolate the bad guys because everyone is the bad guy."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Hotch asked bitterly, "because if my agents die, it's on you. If you had been honest with us, told us of your suspicions, I would not have let my agents be alone with your sociopathic officer." Before Hotch could do anything he knew he'd regret Rossi took Hotch and lead him out. Prentiss and JJ followed and they stood outside the police station.

From there they could see most of the town; a swimming pool, the pub, the school, the road house. The cemetery lay in wait for them. Hotch looked at his agents, making the decision there and then.

"Suit up; we're going to find them."

*TBC


	6. Chapter 6

***Chapter 6: Even Hope had its Limits**

Morgan and Reid heard the door open and pressed themselves back against the wall. The man; the service station attendant, didn't seem to be interested in them. He was busy checking over the other victims, occasionally injecting them with something.

After a few minutes, he stopped in front of their cage and crouched down in front of them. They were pressed back against the wall – he couldn't stick them with the syringe in his hand. However that didn't make Reid feel any better about the prospect of being drugged again.

"Your friends have gone," the man sneered, voice accusing. He didn't seem worried about the fact they were awake. Morgan and Reid didn't say a word. If they spoke, they'd be feeding his already massive ego.

"They were in the black SUV's weren't they?" he asked, voice full of arrogance and conceit. He frowned at their lack of response. "There are none at the cop shop and George has done the rounds – they're nowhere in town or near here. Just face it; they've left you all alone, out here, to die." He stared at them, a look of triumph on his face.

Morgan stared back defiantly. Reid didn't even look at the man. He knew it wasn't true – they hadn't left him with Hankel, they wouldn't leave them now. However, this man didn't know that; didn't know how strong the bonds between their team were. And Reid knew that Morgan knew this too, so all they had to do was hold on until their team got there.

The man stood up, stretching. All around them, people had begun to stir. Obviously he hadn't injected them with sedatives...so what had he just stuck into them?

"You better get ready!" he shouted over the whimpers and the cries, "the games are about to begin!"

Reid swallowed thickly and he and Morgan looked around the warehouse. Eight people were screaming and shouting, crying and rattling on the wire fences. They couldn't see; they could barely move. Reid knew how scared they must feel.

Morgan knew it too. To have all the control just ripped right away from you – unable to do anything by cry and hope, foolishly, that someone would save you.

After a while, the screams had dimmed to helpless sobbing. Even though Morgan and Reid could see where they were, they didn't know what was going to happen to them. They could be dead the moment they walk out that door.

"M-Morgan?" Reid said softly, so soft that Morgan barely heard him. But he did, and he turned to face him.

"What?" he asked, voice subdued. _At least they weren't alone_, he thought. He didn't know what he would have done if he had been here on his own It made him feel even more empathetic towards Reid. What must the younger agent have felt with Hankel? With the anthrax? All alone, uncertain, frightened; not knowing if he'd ever see his mum again? Reid cleared his throat, looking around nervously.

"We..." he coughed nervously, fidgeting with the ropes used to tie him, "we might not get out of this one alive." His voice was sad, but his words were careful. He wanted to say this. He needed to say this.

Morgan shook his head.

"Don't say that, Reid," he said strongly, "we will-"

"No, just, let me say this, okay?" Reid interjected, voice demanding. He turned fierce eyes on Morgan, who immediately tightened his lips. He'd never heard Reid use that tone before.

"I just...I wanted to say that," Reid scratched his neck nervously. "I don't have many friends. I never had much time for them or people got scared away by everything I knew. And I wanted to say that your friendship means a lot to me and," his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated, hard, on what he was saying, "and I...I'm glad to be here, with you, and to have you as my friend." He ended with a smile.

Morgan sat there, gobsmacked. He was struck by the sincerity of Reid's words. Words couldn't describe how much it meant to him to hear those words because he felt exactly the same. After Buford...he didn't trust many people. He _still_ had trust issues, but Reid had the courage to say everything he wanted to and it made him smile.

Reid watched Morgan's face go from slack jawed to a blinding smile. He frowned and almost jumped when Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes.

"Me too, Reid," Morgan said finally. He wanted to say more, Reid knew he did, but then both of the doors opened and ten men, all in their 30's, walked in with leather straps.

Morgan let his hand slip from Reid's shoulder as he watched the men; two by two, open each cell and pull out one person and retie their hands with leather straps, and, still blindfolded, lead them out of the warehouse. The same was done to all the eight victims, and then the men arrived at their cage.

"They managed to pull free from their restraints," an older man, possibly in his sixties, said gruffly, "use extra caution when dealing with them."

The cage was opened and four men dragged Morgan from the cage, another rapidly locking Reid in again. Morgan struggled, hitting out, punching one in the face and kicking another one in the chin before he was wrestled to the ground, face down, still kicking. One of the men knelt on his back, knee digging into the small of his back, grabbing his wrists and tying them together.

"You-" Morgan started, but was silenced when his head was pulled back and a rag was tied around his mouth, turning his words into muffled protests against a rank smelling gag. Next his eyes were blindfolded and a collar was put around his neck. The men moved away from him after a lead was put on.

Reid cringed, biting back his own protests, as they lead Morgan, like a dog, out of the warehouse.

He was next, and he got the same treatment. Bound, gagged, blindfolded, collared and lead out of the warehouse. He almost threw up at the taste of the gag and struggled, like Morgan, vehemently until the last second.

Hotch, Rossi, Prentiss and JJ stole the keys to one of the police vehicles and drove it out to Charles Jackson's farm. There was a light on inside, loud music blasting out of open windows and the animals were roaming about, out of the pen.

Hotch banged on the door, loudly.

"FBI! Open up!" he shouted. The music went down. "FBI!" he called again. Stumbling footsteps and then the door creaked open, revealing a half naked Charles Jackson.

"What do you want?" he asked rudely. Prentiss stood beside Hotch, eyeing the man warily.

"Do you have any tranquiliser guns?" Hotch asked seriously. The half drunk man frowned. Why were the feds up at his farm looking for tranq guns?

"Yeah..." he nodded, "two." Hotch looked at Prentiss. Prentiss shrugged.

"How many darts?" she asked. Charles frowned.

"20...or so," he replied warily, "why?" he asked.

"We'll explain in a thoroughly detailed letter, along with a large sum of cash from the state government and discounts on feed for your animals, if you give us all the darts and guns you have." Hotch explained, eyes narrowed. Charles shrugged and went back in his house, getting the darts and the guns from his closet.

He brought them out and handed them to the agents.

"You better not be lying to me," he said fiercely. Prentiss and Hotch nodded.

"Of course not." They turned away and got back into the police car and drove through the bush track to the cemetery.

As they pulled up, they noticed a lot of cars parked outside the cemetery gates and a large, grey monument protruding from the bushland behind it.

As they got out, the sun setting on the horizon, they heard the sounds of people, cheering. They frowned.

"Okay, we surround the area," Hotch whispered to them as they hid in the bushes near the cemetery. "Rossi and I will subdue people with the tranquilisers; JJ and Prentiss, you can make sure that no one decided to leave. If they try, shoot on sight."

Hotch's eyes were cold with fear. If they had to they would kill every person responsible for this mess.

"Alright, let's go."

*TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**This is the last chapter =) Thanks to all the people who reviewed and/or added it to their favourites/alerts etc. I hope this meets your expectations.

***Chapter 7: Is there really such thing as a happily ever after?**

"People! People! People!" a loud voice called over the announcement system. The 300 or so people sitting in the seats around the colosseum-esque arena hushed, looking up at the announcement box. They had been sent invitations to attend the 'Event of the Century' at the new Arena.

It was wide open, with two entrances, one stemming from a large concrete building, the other to the bushland adjacent. There was an Athletics field in the middle of a giant race track, similar to the kind used to race horses. The Arena was surrounded with large stadium lights. It took fortunes and years to construct but it was worth it.

Once the crowd had quietened, save for hushed whispers, the speaker began talking again.

"I am Anne Freedman and my dream was simple: to keep my community entertained locally," she called out; excitement in her voice. The crowds waited expectantly. Their last sport...well, it didn't pan over so well with the Department of Homeland Security.

"Bring out the game!" she called. From the entrance, leading to the warehouse, walked ten crying people, hands behind their backs, blindfolded; lead by burly men.

"Tonight you will see man against man, fighting, running, _for their lives_!" the crowd erupted in cheers, hooting and shouting their approval.

It made the six FBI agents want to be sick.

JJ and Prentiss stood at the entrance while Rossi and Hotch went around to the announcement box. They took out the security with the tranquilisers. When they got to the stairs that lead to the box, Rossi and Hotch separated.

"I'll go up, you take out the men leading the victims," Hotch said. Rossi nodded and moved around the box, finding the best position. Hotch climbed the stairs slowly, quietly.

The door leading into the box was padlocked. As if on autopilot, he shot the lock, smashed the door down and took out the two people (the people from the roadhouse) with the tranquiliser gun.

"Go, go Rossi!" he called into the earpiece. One by one, the ten men holding the victims went down. The crowd started shouting and yelling.

Hotch took the microphone.

"Everyone! Shut up!" he yelled. The crowd slowly went quiet. "This is a closed Arena. No one will move anywhere. If you try and leave, we have agents surrounding the perimeter, and you will be shot on sight!" he said.

The entire crowd surged.

"Move to the centre of the arena!" he instructed. The victims; not knowing what to do, ran away to the side of the arena, some just running around aimlessly. Morgan and Reid stood still, breathing sighs of relief. They were nearly safe.

"MOVE TO THE CENTRE OF THE ARENA!" Hotch yelled, losing patience. Shots were fired from the exits. JJ and Prentiss were backing them up, showing the crowd that they were not joking.

The crowds, most of them women, children and the elderly, moved to the centre of the Arena – the athletics field. Some of the victims were caught up, but Morgan and Reid managed to grab hold of the side and stay put.

JJ and Prentiss moved in, guns at the ready, making their way to victims and taking the blind folds off, instructing them to go to the exits. The victims moved slowly, crying. With Morgan and Reid, nine were accounted for.

Prentiss heard screaming from the centre of the arena. Xiaou Lee was there, being held by two men, screaming and kicking. Before Prentiss could do anything, one of the men was shot in the arm by Rossi with a tranquiliser dart.

Prentiss fired a shot into the air as she made her way through the hostile crowd to Xiaou Lee. She grabbed her and ran back out.

"AGENTS, MOVE IN!" Hotch yelled to non-existent agents. He scrambled out of the announcement box and he and Rossi bolted back to the police van.

All of the victims were loaded into the back, JJ sitting in with them to explain and console. Morgan and Reid were with Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss in the cab while the agents floored it. Their go bags were in the car already.

Hotch floored the van to about 10 miles out of town before pulling over to the side of the road. A notice was sent to the FBI already, telling them about what had happened. Prentiss got to work on untying Reid and Morgan, who were still slightly in shock.

Hotch went out to the back, Rossi getting into the driver's seat. A precaution, just in case they had to make a dash.

In the back of the police van, JJ had managed to untie all the victims and talk to them softly, telling them they were the FBI and that they were going to get help.

"Is everything okay, JJ?" he asked. The victims were in shock, crying or staring vacantly. She nodded.

"Let's just get them help, Hotch."

They arrived in Albany a few hours later, stopping of for petrol only once, and took the eight victims to the hospital. Hotch showed the nurse his badge and explained the situation, telling them to contact the authorities as soon as possible.

They then stopped off in a hotel, booking plane tickets over the phone for the first flight to Quantico out of Albany.

"Thanks," Reid smiled as JJ gave him a coffee. She stood there a few moments, looking down at Reid before pulling him into a hug.

"I'm so glad you're safe," she whispered, voice shaking. He hugged her back, feeling the tears welling in his eyes.

"I was so scared JJ," he sniffed.

"We all were," she murmured, pulling back. Reid saw the relief in her eyes, the love shining there and he felt so consumed by happiness and love. This was what having a family was like. People who were scared when you were scared; who loved you and wanted your safety.

He wiped his eyes, smiling nervously and taking a seat.

The rest of the team came back into the lobby. They'd called Garcia as soon as they got cell service. She'd sounded like she'd been crying and wouldn't let up until she'd heard Morgan and Reid's voices. Now they were all sticking together, refusing to leave one person alone.

"When we get back to Quantico," Hotch started as they all sat down, "I'm scheduling vacation time for all of us." He said. The team smiled, sighing with relief. This case had been draining – physically and mentally more than others. They all needed a break – some R&R.

"Why did we take that case?" Prentiss asked. "Why were we even called in?" Hotch shook his head.

"I don't know...but hopefully the director can sort it out," he sounded tired; as tired as they all felt.

"Let's get some sleep. We have to be up at 6 and we all need it." JJ suggested, standing. They all agreed and went to their rooms.

At 6 am the next morning, they were on their flight, back to Quantico, glad that the nightmare was behind them. Gad that they were all still together.

*FIN

*Not 100% confident with how this ended (maybe 95...ish).

*I am writing a Morgan/Reid sequel to this. Probably multi-chaptered that takes place not too long after this one finishes. So for all you M/R fans, you get your wish. To all those who aren't slash fans, you can just stop reading it now...if you haven't already.


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